


Love is bigger than anything in its way

by AuburnWolf



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, I Don't Even Know, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Sorry Not Sorry, stansa is a serious matter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-06
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2019-07-07 21:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15916584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuburnWolf/pseuds/AuburnWolf
Summary: Premise: Stannis won the Battle of Winterfell and gave the Castle back to the Starks. Jon Snow came back to life and joined Stannis and the others southern armies to defeat the Others. In the end, Stannis won the war. Everyone forgot their personal grudges and fought together to defeat the bigger enemy. Since Stannis showed everyone he's a capable leader, soldier and king, they've decided to pledge their support and recognize him as true King. Everyone now is reunited in Winterfell, to decide how to share lands, rebuild Westeros and make peace treaties that can actually last. But try to get everyone agree and try to get used to your old life and different people in your Home is not easy as it seems, and someone is not able to sleep.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I'm Italian so probs grammar is not perfect but I tried

Stannis liked simple linear things. He liked to establish routines and be stuck with those. New things were not necessarily better and he couldn't always know what to expect. So he established a new routine: walking, every night, towards the highest walls of Winterfell and stay there, in silence, to think. It was perfect for him. No sound, no voice, no people. Peace.

He was tired of people arguing, tired of people try to please him, tired of people smiling at each other while hiding a knife behind their backs, ready to hit. He needed to rest, but he also knew this mummer's farce was necessary to build a new Westeros, a new Reign, possibly long-lasting. He wanted them to be honest and stop being petty, and he knew pleasing everyone was impossible, but he wanted to try anyway. If they wanted to be childish, they needed someone who acted like and adult and tried to do things accurately. That's why this peace treaty thing was getting long. 

He had won the Battle of Winterfell, gave the Castle back to the Starks and won the admiration and respect of Northern people, grateful that he had avenged the death of their precious Ned. He scowled. He won the War, he won the Long Winter. People finally started to recognize his value and his honour, after years of mocking and disrespect. But he felt he was starting to be tired. And he felt a sense of restlessness deep down inside that didn't let him sleep at night. Rationally he blamed his tiredness, but he knew there were ghosts of his past still there, unable to let him be. 

As it happened every night, Stannis woke up abruptly, screaming because of his nightmares. He opened his eyes, and felt warm rush along his back and his face: he was embarassed and he hated feeling that way. He stayed there for a while, in silence, to see if his screams would have alarmed anyone. Luckily, he thought, they had been enough muffled. He tossed and turned in his bed, mumbling with rage. He knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. He sat up and ground his teeth: he hated to feel this vulnerable. Stannis rubbed his eyes and started to look around him to understand where he was. It was still the middle of the night, but he could see the silhouette of the room. The Lord of Winterfell room. It was an austere room, and he had to admit to himself he appreciated it, stilli t was too big for him, he thought. He argued about that with the lad, Jon Snow, trying to convince him to take his late father's room, but he insisted to give it to him, stating that he preferred to stay closer to his brothers. A thing Stannis would never understand. He knew Lord Stark and his wife used to share the room and the bed, every night, all night, to wake up tangled in a hug, until the end of their marriage. He scowled; another thing he would never understand. He didn’t enjoy to share his bed with Selyse, and surely he used to spend the littlest time he could there, a thing luckily his wife shared with him. Maybe the only thing they had in common. He turned his head to his left, and caressed the fresh linen with his hand: a cold and empty place. Like your wedding is cold and empty, he thought. He get up from the bed, moving the heavy furs, and started to put his clothes on, took his cloak and headed to the door. Winter was over but it was still annoyingly cold. 

Stannis left his room, and greeted with a scorn and a nod, the guards outside his door: they knew they mustn't ask, just do as they were instructed. He started to walk silently down the hallway, like a ghost. He climbed some stairs, to arrive to another hallway, where he finally found a heavy wooden door, familiar at this point, his lingering touch caressing the huge carved direwolf on it. He opened it and continued to walk, trying to reach what was, at his point, his place on the walls. He loved this routine: every night, when the nightmares came, he woke up and walked until he reached that point on the walls, where he stood in silence, to think, to find peace, to savour the dawn and that view, that immense silent snowy land around him. He closed his eyes, letting the icy and biting breeze, brush his face.

It reminded him of when he was a child and used to climb on Storm's End's highest tower, to watch the stormy sea and the waves smashing on the rocks. He remembered how his mother used to join him and how she knew how much he liked silence and that the stormy sea reflected him, so she just stayed there, smiling at him, holding his hand, caressing his face or kissing him on the tip of the head, tickling him with her long locks. He remembered her hands, always soft and warm, her shiny long hair, the scent of lavender, sea water and salt, her smile and how this used to fill his heart so much he was afraid it would have jumped out of his skin and how her hazel eyes used to shine for her boys, but especially for him. He would never feel this loved again in life. He knew it. He closed his eyes, trying to make that memory and the tears that have formed in his eyes, go away. As every night, he took a deep breath, and went on. 

He was getting closer to his place, but he started to see a red spot far away. While he was getting closer, that spot took shape and he found himself in Lady Stark's company. At first he was annoyed to have to share his place with someone, especially with someone he never talked to with interest, but then he remebered he was a guest in her home, so he tried to bury his discomfort.

She was dressed a light nightgown, probably her mother’s, a warm shawl around her. Her beautiful red locks, covered her, like a cloud made of fire. No cloak. Stannis scowled again; these careless stubborn northern people. She was regal in her pose, though. Her straight nose, her full red lips, her icy eyes. Stannis found himself staring, incapable to turn his gaze away. She was like a mermaid, a perfect marriage between ice and fire. Sansa was completely lost deeply in her thoughts and seemed to have not noticed him. She seemed far away, or maybe she truly was empty-headed as they said. 

Stannis cleared his throat and spoke. "Lady Stark..you shouldn't be here, alone, at night". He took a moment to look at her again. "barely covered". His tone was harsh, as if he was judging her.  
Sansa was startled. "Your Grace..I..I didn't expect anyone to come here. I thought no one knew this place. It calms me...you can't sleep too?" - she said with a shy smile, turning to face him, but he was staring in front of him.   
“No, I can't sleep" - he answered. He was still looking in front of him, as if he was looking for something, but she could see his eyes and his tone softened, and she could swear his cheeks, covered by that long bristly beard, as black as the night was dark, were redder.  
"Me too". Sansa blushed too, but she couldn't say why. She started to look at her hands, fidgeting with her fingers. 

They stayed in silence for a while, but then Stannis suddenly turned towards her. He started to look at her, puzzled, and said, more sarcastically than he would have had: "And what would keep a highborn young lady awake at night? Songs and embroidery?”

She made a strange sound, something in the middle of a sob and a laugh. Stannis kept looking at her, at this point feeling a bit ashamed.  
"My ghosts, Your Grace". Sansa raised her eyes, they were watery.

Stannis closed the distance between them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize so many months have passed but I was trying to pass my exam to become a psychologist that in Italy it's like Hunger Games. So nobody would care about but now I'm a psychologist, and I can go back writing smut porn and everything shiny. A thing: since I write it in Italian and then translate, if something is wrong, please tell me so I can correct.   
> Also, I've fixed a bit chapter one, if you want.   
> (also, I don't think Sansa is stupid, I adore her.. but as a person who suffers from depression, I think she has it too, so she tends to be very harsh towards herself. so If I use some words or tone, it's for this reason)

Sansa hated this situation even if she was aware it was temporary. Temporary or not, people were staying in Winterfell longer than she had expected. But she survived. She survived games, plots, Lannisters’ vexations, a wedding, a sly man obsessed with her mother, Ramsey’s tortures. And she came back home. She made it. She felt like she should have been happy about it. Papa, I’m back home, she thought. Still it was a heavy heart the one she felt between her lungs. She was home, surrounded by ghosts. She was feeling like Winterfell, broken but still standing. She was like this: Sansa keep falling, but everytime she raised back, despite what people could think about her, and, she learnt. 

Sansa felt guilt rushing through her body and resting in her heart. She’s been feeling guilty since Ned’s death, but this kept growing and she felt often overwhelmed. As the years went by, new reasons to feel guilty had come: she felt guilty to have forced her family to move south, to have fallen in love with Joffrey, to have forced her father to subdue to the Lannisters to fulfill her childish dreams, to have hurt her mother, for Robb and for his stolen life, for Arya, who she felt responsible for, for Bran and Rickon, who were left alone too soon. Knowing that her lost brothers were probably alive, hadn’t helped her, since they were far away and who knew where, and she couldn’t hug and protect them. But she had to admit finding Jon had been a ray of light in her life; she felt ashamed about how she had treated him growing up, but they managed to go through it, to forgive each other. And then Arya came, a swordman through and through, and she was happy because she finally found her way. They’ve told each other their stories, already too long and winding to be so young, and built their little family back. 

She felt guilty to have survived and because, more or less, she was fine, feeling she didn’t deserve it. She felt all the pain she’d experienced through the years was the right punishment for her selfishness and to be there, still breathing, where the other Starks should have been. She dreamed a family, children with auburn hair and her family names, but now, she decided she must stay alone, because no one would have ever loved her for who she was. And she wasn’t able to share this pain with Jon.   
And, the Baratheon arrived and established their new court at Winterfell. And even if Sansa was grateful to Stannis to have won Winterfell back and to have saved her, in a timely manner, from her unhappy wedding that almost happened and its obvious consummation, she couldn’t help to think these peace treaties, Queen Selyse’s constant judging gaze and her demands, and King Stannis’ persistent teeth grinding. 

Every night she woke up abruptly, at the same time, with a heavy heart and sweat drops surrounded her forehead like a tiara made of pearls. Nightmares. Too many to say which one it was. Sometimes it was Robb, with a wolf head, sometimes her mother, her body torna part, or her father, while Joffrey’s laugh and high pitched voice echoed in her ears, or Joffrey himself, purple lips and bloody eyes. Sometimes it wash ere brothers, summer laughs, no more dreams and adventures to live. Often, it was Ramsey’s hands she dreamed about; she felt his slaps on her face, blood running down her chin, the sound of his belt ready to hit her, the bruises he left on her ivory skin, his lips, rough and too much wet, on hers. Or Theon, hollow and scared eyes, gaunt cheeks, broken bones. She dreamed about the night they found the courage to run away, how they jumped from Winterfell’s walls, followed by her future husband’s hounds angry barks. 

She remembered how, half freezed, she was found by Brienne, hugged to Theon and how she hugged Jon, as if it dependend her life on it. She bent her knee to Stannis, the King even her father supported, the King who saved her life, she beared Brienne’s pouts towards him, she beared Westerosi lord fighting over every inch of land, meanwhile feasting at her table and sleeping in her castle. She was starting to feel like a stranger in her home; no more silence, no more freedom. Sansa was starting feeling sympathetic towards that King, cold and blunt, who had to deal with empty words, fake smiles, of people ready to strike you as soon as they obtained what they desired. She was able to understand this, after her training with Petyr and Cersei, and if at the beginning she was able to figure out, from his frowns and harsh answers, why people were keen on leaving him alone, now, observing him, she was starting to notice a regal nature, in his gestures, in his voice, in his gaze, so much that she desired to stay around him as much as she could. Sansa was drawn to him, like a moth towards a flame. 

She moved the furs that covered her bed and sat silently, winding her legs up towards her breast. She could see moon light coming into her room, from her windows, reflecting over her white pale skin. Her room. It was her mother’s, the Lady of Winterfell room. She wondered how many times her mother used it, since she used to share the room with her father. “She found someone who loved her more than anything else..I wonder if I…” – she thought, tears coming up. She get out of bed, leaving the soft mattress under her and walked towards the majestic vanity table, that belonged to her mother a long time ago. She could swear her mother’s scent was still lingering in the room. She looked in the mirror and gasped; closed her eyes and rubbed them gently. It seemed her mother was staring at her. She smiled – “Don’t be stupid Sansa”. At this point, it was difficult to recognize herself: she wasn’t anymore the child who left Winterfell one spring, but she was becoming a woman, who winters made cold and distant. She could find her mother in her, while tracing her face with her long thin fingers. House Tully famous blue eyes, her straight regal nose, her auburn hair, rich and warm, even warmer then hers, her high cheekbones, but not her lips. Those plump lips, were of the Stark. She smiled and seen her father in her for a brief moment, but that smile died half way. “Don’t be stupid Sansa. They live in you, but you don’t have anything else to smile for”. She could feel tears coming up, so she braided her mane, and washed her face with some freezing water from the basin next to her, wrapped herself with a blanket and rushed out from her room, towards Winterfell’s towers. 

Spring had come, but the air was still freezing. Anyway, Sansa loved to be kissed by Northern winds. For years she dreamed to live somewhere else, in the South, with seas, warm winds, sunlight and pulpy fruits, near the Queen; for years she hoped to stay somewhere else and have cried bitter tears because she was born in a place she felt she didn’t belong to. This was her atonement. “I’m a Northern girl, Winterfell daughter. Wolf blood runs in my veins, and I’m proud of it”. She kept repeating that to herself, she finally found the wolf running insid her, and she didn’t want to let it go anymore. 

She walked along the castle hallway, towards her place, on the highest tower. She used to go there every night she couldn’t sleep, to talk to her ghost. “If I can’t sleep, if you don’t let me sleep, I’ll come here crying with you”, she told to herself. She learned how to be strong, how to pretend to be fine, how to hide her feeling, but in truth she felt alone, more than she ever felt, and let herself be weak there, where nobody would have never seen her. She felt her ancestors would have understood and welcomed her.   
She stayed there, straight and regal, to look at the horizon. Fixed the blanket, and waited there, the sun to rise, her special moment, the only one where she felt calm and at peace. Suddenly she started to see a shape coming towards her in the darkness. She was aware who he was, since she had learned to recognize the sound of his steps. Sansa was feeling his fiery gaze on her face, and since she was starting to feel like she was burning from the inside, decided to pretend nothing was happening, keep staring in front of her, hoping in that way he would have ignored her and this embarassing moment would finish soon. 

Stannis came close and cleared his throat to break this heavy silence. He started to talk to her, judging and worrying about her virtue, saying things like she shouldn’t be alone, at night, making Sansa arch an eyebrow thinking that this was her castle, that she knew it like she knew herself and so she knew where to go, without being spotted by anyone, or that she shouldn’t be there with no clothes on. This made her lowering her eyes towards her breasts; she noticed the blanket was opened and her light nightgown let her ivory skin and soft round curves be available for everyone who dared to linger his gaze. She blushed and moved her eyes towards him, who, at this point, was staring in front of him, his eyes, as dark as the sea by night, and red cheeks. She could swear he’d noticed her breast too, and this was making him embarassed, judging from how he was compulsively clearing his throat and he was moving clumsily, next to her, as if he desired to disappear. 

Sansa decided to get the better of it and to be strong, so she started talking to him, trying to be naive but to keep him close to her as long as she could. It happened rarely she could stay alone with him, but it was difficult even trying to break that wall of suspicion and harshness lingering around him. Sansa, was more and more embarassed to be around him, like it happened to her years before, when she always thought about knights in her songs, and that made her blush even more. 

They stayed in silence for a while, until Stannis suddenly started to staring, puzzled, to ask her: “And what would keep a highborn young lady awake at night? Songs and embroidery?”. Sansa felt something break inside. Another humiliation, another betrayal. She felt like that stupid empty child she was and wondered if that child went away. Maybe people were right saying she was stupid. She emitted a muffled sob, laughinh to herself because she trusted another time her heart only to be wrong, feeling the King staring at her. She felt his warm eyes, almost marking her. His powerful gaze was something she seemed to be the only one to notice in a world of people who believed that those dark deep blue eyes were just another proof that he was made of stone. So she decided to be strong and honest. 

"My ghosts, Your Grace". Sansa raised her eyes, they were watery and she blamed herself because she have been weak another time. She saw his eyes, becoming softer, and it seems to her he was visibly ashamed. She saw the king closing the distance between them and taking her hand in his, warm and strong. Sansa let her tears streaming down her face, no shame about that, and saw him nodding, as if he was granting her to tell him her burdens. And since she felt, somehow, to be understood, Sansa decided to let him see who she really was.


End file.
